


Nothin' I Wouldn't Do To Wake Up & Remember It

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Captain Brian, Crown Prince Wonpil, M/M, Pirates and magic, They're cute, ex-lovers who are still in love, fluff and plot, some hints at smut but nothing very graphic, sorta love-hate but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: Even if it’s been years since Brian was disgraced from the House of Kang, even if it’s been years since he left Prince Wonpil’s bed for the rigors of the open sea--even if he’s ruled the amethyst sea as YoungK, Pirate King for the better part of a decade, at the end of the day, his heart keeps leading him back home: to his Crown Prince, to the love of his life.





	Nothin' I Wouldn't Do To Wake Up & Remember It

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Day 2 and Day 5 of YoungFeel week which is happening over at http://twitter.com/day6shipweeks the theme of which is Pirates and Faeries, respectively. :) This is (very loosely) based off of the Alucard-Rhy story arc of the Shades of Magic trilogy by V.E. Schwab. 
> 
> Title is from Everybody Lost Somebody by Bleachers.
> 
> I hope that you guys enjoy this. Please yell at me liberally in the comments because discussion is fun and my motivation to keep writing for a ship relies very heavily on external commendation. 
> 
> Twt/CC: @teenuviel1227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summon, a reply.

“Fucking throw them overboard,” Captain Brian Kang says, reaching a hand out and flicking a finger until the rope that keeps the prisoners bound to the bough of wood hanging over the edge of the ship catches fire. Brian grins, quite impressed with himself for maintaining his proficiency with fire despite the fact that he’d been living surrounded by water for the better part of the past decade. “If any of them try to scramble aboard, you know what to do, Park.”

Jae, his first lieutenant, grins, tossing his head back and sending a flurry of blonde hair whipping in the wind. “Aye, aye, Cap.” 

As if on cue, one of the men wiggle out of the ropes that bind him and begin to climb the arch of the bough, making to get back on deck. Jae stomps a foot onto the deck and with a turn of his ankle and the flick of his wrist, a shimmer goes through the wooden deck before slipping onto the feet of the pirates, hanging from the bough, their feet suddenly heavy, turning to stone. 

“Please--let us go--we’ll work for you as crew--"

“--oh come  _ on _ ,” Jae says, smirking. “What  _ about  _ you-fuck-with-us-we-show-you-no-mercy don’t you guys understand? This isn’t some petty crew you decided to pillage, you morons, it’s the goddamn Black Lobster. You  _ know _ why it’s called that don’t you?” 

For a moment, there’s only the sound of whimpering as the rope burns thinner, the weight of their shackles pulling them lower, lower, dipping them into the sea--and then the sound of the Captain’s leather boots on the wooden floor. 

“In case you don’t,” Captain Kang says, stepping in behind Jae. “It’s because we’ve stolen and kept enough gold to be able to eat lobster every night. And you don’t get that by sparing your enemies or taking on treacherous crew. See ya, boys. Say hi to Poseidon for me.” 

“But--”

With that, Brian snaps his fingers and the fire burns two-fold, the lot of the men dropping into the ocean--at first, screaming, and the only the waves, the ocean resuming her wrathful cadence. Jae sighs, clapping a hand on Brian’s shoulder. 

“--what a shame,” Jae says as they walk down toward the mess hall. “I really thought we were finally going to make peace with the Venusians back there. I really hate it when we run into another trading conglomerate and they try to stiff us. It’s the worst sort of betrayal because I always get so excited to find someone who can out-haggle me.” 

Brian snorts. “I think if I met someone who could out-haggle you, I’d have to throw you overboard and make  _ them  _ first mate.”

“And I would respect you for it,” Jae counters. “Not many men can get you things you want for free--so if you meet someone who gets you paid for the things you want, you have permission to trade me in for a better model.”

Brian laughs. “You wish. You’re staying on this goddamn ship with me forever, Park.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Jae retorts. “It’s positively depressing.” 

“That’s not what you said back when we used to fuck--” 

“--which is why we stopped,” Jae grins. 

“And here I thought you didn’t want to ruin the friendship.” Brian jokes, pushing the door to the mess hall open. 

A hush falls over the room. Brian raises an eyebrow. The hall is usually bustling with energy--Jackson and Jinyoung getting into fights over who  _ really  _ won the bet against the Ezelites back during their last port stop in the Caravan Towns, Jamie and Dowoon fighting over whether the translation of the latest summon from a raven they’d gotten was better done in the common tongue or in Tagalese, Ayeon and Chan arguing over who was the better navigator--and tonight is more of the same, at least, until Jae and the Captain walk in. 

“Did someone die?” Jae asks.

“Well,” Brian says. “I mean I know those goddamn swindlers died. But what the hell is happening down here?” 

Jamie turns to the porthole, ignoring the question, but shoving at Dowoon hard enough that he stumbles off of the stool on which he’s sat. A piece of parchment slips out of his hands. Brian and Jae spot it at the same time: the opened wax seal is an unmistakable shade of royal blue, the sigil is a rose sitting crested in a three-pointed crown.  _ The Royal seal.  _

“Oh no,” Jae says, his usually booming voice coming out like a whisper. “Bri, don’t--”

But it’s too late. Brian dashes across the room, picking the parchment up before Dowoon can get to it. He feels his heart lurch as he sees the familiar handwriting, the neat script, the soft loops and drooping ends, the places where the ink pooled. He imagines him sitting at his desk, writing it, thoughtful, the nib of the quill resting just-so, cradled between the thumb and forefinger that he’d loved so much, had known so well.   
  


Younghyun of House Kang,

I know your country and your house mean nothing to you now, but the Isles are under attack and our military forces carrying our equipment have been trapped in the Dorsian channel. They’re held down by black ice which will yield only to time; in this case a month which will be too late--you know how the Dorsenese enjoy their tricks with that damn channel and the illusory waters but it was the quickest way and we were hoping it was unmanned. Foolish, I know. Poor strategy and over-optimism, I  _ know. _ On any other day, I would rather die than ask you for help--but it seems like the choice actually is between you and death, and I am obligated by my royal duty to do all I can for my people, so, I am summoning you and your crew to court. We need your resources. You will be given amnesty and then a reward--not that you need it. 

My father is ill and I may be crowned within the next fortnight. If you refuse this summon, at least write back. I know it is your habit to leave without notice, but in this case, I’m hoping you make an exception. Your bloodline is, after all, pledged to mine.

Respectfully,

His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, Wonpil of House Kim

 

“Good news?” Dowoon tries to guess, studying Brian’s expression. “Bad news?”

Brian smiles softly, fingering the penmanship a last time before folding the parchment slowly and slipping the note into his coat pocket. 

“At dawn, we sail for the Isles.” 

  
  


“Any word yet?” Wonpil asks, crossing and recrossing his legs. He’s sitting in the throne room, his blue suit resplendent in the late afternoon light. His suit is blue frilled with stark-white, his cape hanging in marbled blue-and-silver over the throne. On his chest is embroidered the sigil of the House of Kim: a flower crowned in silver. On his head is the single silver ring studded with a lone sapphire--the circlet of the Crown Prince. 

“Nope,” Sungjin, General of the Kingsguard and his head adviser, shakes his head. “Nothing yet. Look, with all due respect, Pillie--your highness--I know that you’re fond of Brian but--”

“--Younghyun, you mean,” Wonpil interjects. He raises his gaze, looking out the far window at the view of the sea which sparkles in the sunset. “And it’s  _ were _ . Past-tense. You  _ were  _ fond of Younghyun of House Kang.” 

Sungjin sighs, rolls his eyes. “Yes. All very interesting altercations in your mind, I’m sure. But anyway. As fond as you  _ were _ of Younghyun of House Kang, I don’t think we should rely on a pirate’s aid for us to be able to free our ships--”

“--Pirate  _ King _ ,” Wonpil corrects. “And of all people, I know how stressful this situation is. Do you think I  _ wanted _ to ask him for help? Believe me, if I had any other options, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Write to our old allies,” Sungjin says slowly. “The Bearics, the Andalese, the Ezelites--”

“--they signed the treatise, Sungjin--”

“--I know, your highness, however--”

“--they signed the treatise barring people, men, like me from loving who we want to love and you think I would go to them for help--”

“--if your people demanded it--” 

“--I would sooner sit Younghyun on this throne as my consort than deal with people who deemed it lawful to let people be flayed and killed for simply being who they are. We will wait on word from him. And if it doesn’t come, then I will write to the mountain tribes--”

“--the mountain tribes, your highness? They don’t  _ cooperate _ \--”

“--they don’t like starving either. And we have the luxury of being the port closest to them. We distribute their meat, their grain, their seafood, their oil, their fuel. We have leverage.” 

“They don’t have a pledge as the allies do--”

“--pledges can be broken,” Wonpil says softly. “I, of all people should know that. We wait another day for Younghyun’s answer.” 

  
  


That night, Wonpil stands at his balcony, looking out at the calm sea. He lets out a sigh. At first glance, no one would know that the kingdom was at war--the water is peaceful, the houses remain sparkling in the bright sunlight, people go about their business as usual. But the decline is slow but sure: delayed shipments here and there, the prices of fuel, of oil, of food, rising day by day, the slow shutting down of magic schools, people pulling their businesses out and into neighboring Portsmouth. 

And then last week, the veiled threat--the letter guised as a summons to a treaty. Last week, the report that their shipments had been frozen, held in the channel by force. Wonpil takes a moment to let his mind wander, to let himself think of all the things he is too afraid to think during the day, in the presence of court, in the presence of his advisers, of Sungjin, whose opinion he respects far too much to risk being on the negative end of. He thinks of his father, the King, lying in bed with the sleeping sickness--so close to death, his eyes milky-blue, his mind no longer clear. He thinks of his mother, the Queen, who’d died at childbirth, and wonders what counsel she’d give him if she had still been alive. And lastly, he lets his mind settle on Younghyun--on Brian,  _ his  _ Bri, his bestfriend, his lover, his protector. He sighs, resting his head against the frame of the terrace. 

Even now, even after all these years, if Wonpil closes his eyes tight enough, if he lets himself, he can still feel the warmth of Brian’s arms around him, can still feel the softness of his kisses, the warmth of their bodies naked and sated against the silk sheets of his bed as Brian kissed him slow, as Wonpil held him closer and closer still. He can still trace the line of Brian’s smile, can still remember the exact depth and diameter of the dimple in his cheek, can still see himself reflected in the darkness of his chocolate-brown eyes when he looked at Wonpil with all of that love. 

Or so he’d thought--until he’d woken up one morning and news of Brian’s departure had been delivered to him at court like a report on the farmlands, the coastal paths. No letter, no slip of parchment, nothing. The love of his life gone rogue with one of the House of Kang’s ships: no explanation, only a request from Brian’s father for compensation and disbursement from the crown.

Wonpil sighs.  _ You’re still an idiot.  _

Truth be told, part of him still holds a candle for Brian: still wonders, despite himself, if he is still as handsome, as charming, as kind as he was back then. Part of him wants to know if Brian still laughs as easily and cries just as hard, weeping at poetry and plays, songs and farce. He wants to know if they meet again whether that same look will be in his eyes when he glances at Wonpil, holds him in his gaze. And, more than anything, Wonpil wonders if he will still feel that way about Brian--if his heart will still leap in his chest at the sight of him: broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, grin sly and mischievious as a fox with a puzzle to solve, if he will still feel the ache to hold him close and kiss him deep even if he knows he shouldn’t, even if they’re at court, even if everyone is watching. 

_ If he’d stayed, I would’ve asked him to marry me, the law be damned.  _

Wonpil turns away from the terrace, closing the balcony doors behind him. 

_ But he didn’t. _

Just as he’s about to turn the lantern off, there’s a soft knock on the door. 

“Pil?” Sungjin’s voice comes in from the hall.

Wonpil opens the door a fraction. “Yeah?”

Sungjin hands Wonpil a piece of parchment. The seal is black. Wonpil’s heart is pounding in his chest as he takes it. 

“Thanks.” He waves Sungjin off despite the concern creasing his handsome face. “I’ll let you know what it says tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“As you wish,” Sungjin says, reluctantly closing the door behind him. 

Wonpil takes a deep breath before slipping a finger between the folds of the parchment, undoing the seal. He smiles at the sight of Brian’s messy handwriting.  _ Still chicken scratch.  _  
  


Your Highness,

It’s my honor to come to your aid--a summon I don’t deserve but gladly accept.

Yours still,

Brian

 

Wonpil feels himself blush at the use of the nickname. He takes a breath, sets the note down on his bedside table, and finally turns the lantern out. He walks slowly to the bed, tucks himself in, and listening to the sea, thinking of Brian sitting on his ship, sailing closer, closer toward him, waits for slumber to wash over him like tide. 

**Author's Note:**

> CH2 will be up tomorrow.


End file.
